


Across the Harnen

by Otherworlder



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otherworlder/pseuds/Otherworlder
Summary: This is the tale of Araniel, Princess and Heir Presumptive of Gondor and Arnor, and Kor, Crown Prince of the Empire of Harad. This is their simple love story made not so simple by court intrigue, diplomacy, old feuds and older loves.Features a slew of OCs, and also the twins, Celeborn, and Aragorn.





	1. The Crown Prince

On the day he turned thirty, Kor, Ambassador from Harad and the eldest son of the Emperor, received an urgent missive from home. The Emperor of Harad was ill, growing weaker day by day, and the Emperor had sent for his wayward son to return home from this self-inflicted exile. Kor read the missive three times, before putting it down and looking out of the window. The White City had been home for him since his early childhood, first unwillingly, but then gladly chosen, and there were many here that he loved and cherished. 

All of it would come to an end very soon. 

He breathed out slowly, and then sent a page to request an urgent audience with King Aragorn Elessar. He did not expect the Princess Araniel to come fetch him for the audience with the King barely an hour later. 

The devastatingly beautiful Gondorian princess came to him and said, “Father has perhaps thirty or forty minutes now, before he must devote himself to the southern lords for the rest of the day. He said if your need is urgent, you should come now to speak with him.”

Kor nodded silently, barely taking his eyes off the princess. Here is another he will never see again. Araniel did not seem discomfited by his uncharacteristic stare, she only flashed him a smile, her flawless white face bright and glorious like the snow glistening in the sunlight atop the peak of Mindoluin, so bright it all but blinded him. He ducked his head and followed, willing himself to forget these inescapable pains. 

Oh but how he will pine for the White City from a strange home!

He was only seven when first he beheld Minas Tirith. A war between Gondor and Harad had just concluded the winter before. The Gondorian King and his paltry army of less than ten thousand, weary from the Great War against Mordor, met one hundred-thousand men from the heart of a newly reunified Harad just north of the Harnen. Somehow the Gondorian King wrested an impossible victory, dividing the Haradrim force and capturing the pocket that was the Royal Guard and the Emperor himself. Gondor’s demand after that fragile victory was terrible yet not wholly unexpected: Harad’s prince and heir apparent as a hostage. 

At the tender age of seven, Kor braced himself to make the ultimate sacrifice for his people. He was ready to face humiliation, subjugation, even death, but the Gondorian King only ever looked on him with guileless pain and guilt and treated him like an estranged but still beloved son. Here in the heart of the enemy nation he was still a prince; whatever suspicious and unhappy grumblings there existed were carefully kept out of his way. Confusion and resentment did not take long to pass, for Minas Tirith was fair and different and her King full of the strangest stories, from the spiraling towers to the labyrinthine alleys, from the grand ancient library to his own secret seat at the King’s public receptions, there was so much to explore and to learn, that a little boy easily got lost in the excitement. By the age of fourteen Kor was almost like any other boy from one of Gondor’s noble houses. He thrilled at receiving his first sword and could not help but show off in front of Gondor’s young princess, causing the nine-year old girl to entreat mightily with her parents for a sword also. 

But at the age of fourteen he also returned home. For him it was seven exciting years of growing up in a strange and beautiful place, but for Gondor, it was seven years well spent healing, recovering, and rebuilding old strength. At the end of those seven years, when Minas Tirith was again teeming with hundred of thousands of people, when the Reunified Kingdom of Arnor and Gondor felt more than prepared to face the Empire of Harad again in peace or war, it was time to return the hostage home.

“I am glad ‘tis over,” The King of Gondor said to Kor at that first parting, grey eyes still pained and guilty, “If I had any other way, Kor, I would not have done this. I do not ask for forgiveness, for you should not forgive me by all account, and I cannot ask for it when I cannot regret this course of action. Perhaps one day, when you are much older, we must parry as kings do, but for now, will you be a friend and write to me about the beauties of Tantor?”

Kor nodded. He knew he should be joyful about returning home, but he did not feel such, not truly. He never knew his mother, and even before his journey north he barely saw his own father, who, like all great emperors, was always working and had little patience for women and children. He was forlorn about leaving the White City, but he put on an eager smile instead. He was fourteen that year, and already he knew duties were greater than feelings.

Araniel was standing beside her father, holding on to the King’s mantle while eying him fiercely. “When you come back,” The princess of the Reunified Kingdom declared, “I will have secured myself a real sword, bigger and brighter than yours!”

After returning home Kor had tried to write, once. It was a simple letter cataloging some presents and asking after the Queen and the Princess’s health. This was entirely fitting for a prince of Harad——he was not so oblivious of the ways of his own people! Yet his father flew into a terrible rage upon seeing the letter, before it even had a chance to make into the Foreign Affairs office to be vetted. He was the confused target of a long, impassioned rant, one from which his relationship with his father would never quite recover. 

He held on for as long as he was able, making what peace he could with his father, all the while deflecting schemes of his younger brothers and their supporters, and it quickly grew immensely tiring. When he was twenty the ambassador to Gondor passed away, and he snatched up the opportunity with a rare hunger. Maneuvering with every art politic he did not even know he possessed, he made sure the court would not be against sending the Crown Prince as an ambassador to Gondor (and that was no mean feat!) and then approached his father for the job. He had expected to be in for a long fight, but to his utter surprise, his father agreed all too easily. 

“You can go enjoy the so-called White City and her King,” His father had pronounced glumly, “You can go taste every joy and pain I have known at his hand.”

Ten years had flown by since then. He was not always in Minas Tirith for those ten years, for he did also have to attend his princely duties at home, yet every second of those ten years he had spent in the White City now seemed too brief. 

He will never see it again, in all likeliness, and never set eyes again on all the fair ones that dwell within the city. 

“You seem out of sorts today, Prince,” Araniel spoke and snapped him out of his reveries, peering at him with worried grey eyes, “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes,” Kor answered reflexively, but after yet another prolonged stare he shook his head, “No. I have some news to share with you, but after I spoke to His Majesty your father.”

“Of course,” Araniel nodded as she led him into the King’s sitting room.

This was a room for conversations among family and close friends, rather than for official business. Normally Kor was grateful and glad for the kind familiarity the northern King afforded him, but today he had to be official. Upon entering he bowed in the fashion of his people, with his hands stacked in front of him, palms facing his body. Such was his right as an ambassador, to offer respect following the way of his people, rather than that of Gondor.

“Your majesty,” Spoke Kor, “I have come to you with urgent news.”

King Aragorn Elessar looked mildly surprised, then he turned towards his daughter with a look. Araniel curtsied and exited the sitting room, looking just a trifle reluctant. 

“Is this something the court needs to hear?” Aragorn asked after Kor sat down and Araniel closed the door behind her, “I can offer you an official hearing tomorrow morning at the earliest, should you desire it.”

“It is something Your Majesty can choose to tell your court at your convenience. I am here to inform Your Majesty that my father has taken ill, and I must return home to Harad at once. I cannot tarry to conclude any official business still on the agenda, and Harad may not send a replacement ambassador for many months, but that is by no means a sign of ill will, only of our misfortune.”

Aragorn nodded thoughtfully, before saying, “Do you see yourself returning to Minas Tirith as the ambassador in the future?”

Kor hesitated a second and then said, “I do not think it likely.”

“I see,” Aragorn watched him with those keen silver-grey eyes, “How old is your oldest brother, Kor? If memory serves me right, he would be twenty-one this year?”

Kor flinched. In the breath of two brief exchanges, the northern King not only deduced that the Emperor of Harad must be near the end of his life and Kor now prepared to return home to receive a throne, he also guessed that the transition of power would not proceed quite so smoothly. 

The Haradrim prince could only nod, and then he added, “The third son is nineteen and the staunchest supporter of my second brother. There is also a little brother of fourteen whose mother is from the White Reed Clan.”

Aragorn asked gently, “Do you desire the throne?”

Kor opened his mouth, and then closed it again. For a moment he did not know what to say. Aragorn waited patiently for Kor to untangle this himself, not saying a word, only kept that cool, grey gaze upon his face. 

At last Kor said, “Father sent for me. He wants to see me, and he wants me to be the next emperor, so I think. All those years, despite our disagreements, he never tried to bestow the title of Crown Prince upon another.” He breathed out, and sat up straighter, “Not only am I the heir decreed by law, I am also more capable, more experienced than my younger brothers. I will be the emperor Harad deserves.”

Aragorn nodded once more, but he said, “Yet judging by your voice, you do not think it will be easy.” 

Kor grimaced, feeling his determination flag a little. He murmured with his head lowered, “I do not foresee armed conflicts at least, only tiresome plots, but no, it will not be easy. I have been gone for too long perhaps, in my eagerness to escape my father’s moods and the much scheming about nothing at court.”

“And you have been too long in the thrall of the northern King, no doubt some of your kinsmen will say so.”

“Only the young ones will speak thus, and be told off for being foolish young creatures, all outside my father’s earshot, of course,” Kor had to smile a little at this, even if the memories were heart wrenching as well as humorous, “They remember Your Majesty; many who once fought under the Eagle of the North, who learned from him and lived and died by his commands are still there, though they are old. They pass on the tales, as do our scholars and historians. The people of Harad may be short-lived, but we revere history and let nothing be forgotten; we record every minor player and venerate the true giants. Even when Gondor is gone with the passage of time, we will still remember our Grand Marshal.” 

“Bold words, Kor,” said the King, softly and with no admonishment. He simply sounded sad. Aragorn fell silent, grey eyes growing dim and faraway, as one who walked in memories. And then he sighed, the light of the past gone from his eyes, and he was once more the King of the Reunified Kingdom, calm and calculating. He said, “So you recognize that even now I hold sway in Tantor. Would you like my help then to win yourself a throne?”

Kor’s heart leapt, not out of surprised joy and hope, rather it hummed and buzzed with something akin to terror. Aragorn put a hand on his arm to still his racing heart and said, “No, I do not mean with decrees or armed forces. I am neither a conqueror nor a king maker. I was simply offering to write a few letters to people who might aid you, and not as the King of Arnor and Gondor, but as an old friend who still loves Tantor and the great land of Harad.”

Aragorn was clearly coaxing a child, it was too obvious, but Kor felt comforted nonetheless. Yet he was still wary, bitter, even. He said with a small laugh, “Your Majesty is not a King maker? Even my royal father at his most resentful would disagree, as would every biography of the Grand Marshal ever put to paper.”

“I cannot offer you what I once gave your grandfather and your father,” said the northern King, “But I hope what I can still do for you may be of some use.”

“Of some use to whom?” Kor wondered out loud.

“To the both of us,” Aragorn replied smoothly and without hesitation, “Let us not parry false words, Prince, for it is a plain matter that I prefer to see you upon the golden throne of Harad than your brothers. You are familiar to me and predictable, I can have a measure of faith in your will for peace, yet as a friend I would also like to see you achieve your heart’s desires.”

Kor’s mouth twisted and he muttered, “Had my father not been all of these too at some point in time? Did you not fulfill every one of his heart’s desires? Not even that long ago as you would measure it.”

Aragorn’s face instantly darkened. When he spoke his voice was low and dangerous, like the rumble of thunder from faraway clouds, and lightning passed through his eyes. He said, “I was less prepared than I should be to meet your father’s betrayal both times, but never again. The days of secrecy are behind me, and the Reunified Kingdom has regained all of her ancient strength, so cross me at your own peril. Great love I still have for the people of Harad, though the path your father forced me to walk cut my very soul, but I will not——cannot——abide another treachery. Turn on me, and you and all of yours will pay dearly.” 

With every ounce of his strength Kor willed himself to not cower, yet he still squirmed in his seat. After a moment of calming his heart, he nodded very slowly. The fear did not quite dissipate, but he knew he needed every help. So he said, “If Your Majesty is willing to write those letters for me I shall be forever grateful. Though methinks I must be the one to decide if, when, and how to deliver those letters.”


	2. The Northern Princess

After Kor took leave of the King, he found Princess Araniel waiting for him in the corridor with an eager look. He bowed to her, and she only smiled with no concern for formal politesse, instead she said, “We can speak now if you are not otherwise occupied. Join me in my garden for a glass of wine?”

“Of course, my lady.”

They stepped into the beautiful private garden behind the princess’s chamber. A single young oak tree grew in the center of a lush green lawn. It was spring, and the grey boughs of the oak tree glowed with new leaves, and delicate snowdrops blossomed in the grass. A table and two chairs of wrought iron sat under the oak tree, simple but elegant, made comfortable with finely embroidered satin cushions stuffed with goose down. This was the princess’s favorite little corner of the citadel.

A flagon and two goblets were already set upon the table, as well as a bundle of black fabric. Araniel poured a goblet of wine and offered it to Kor, before pouring one for herself as well. Kor took a shallow taste and found it a strong wine, stiff and tart, the type he preferred, but Araniel always liked a sweet, gentle wine. The gaping hole in his heart grew larger still, but he forced himself to laugh.

“The fair moon is not here, so,” He then recited a line of slightly changed poetry in his native tongue, “‘I raise my glass to invite the sun.’”

“‘And with the shadows we are a veritable crowd,’” Araniel smiled again, she too subtly changed the venerated line from his land, “It is your birthday, Prince, and you are not so alone. I say the occasion demands more uplifting poetry.”

“The poet of old can make himself happy and amongst friends even at night under a cold moon, alone in his garden. Surely that is uplifting?”

“Perhaps, but is not a poem about making joy out of joy more befitting?” The young princess winked at him, “‘An old friend loves my taste, comes to me with a flagon of wine. Beneath the pine tree we sit, few cups do we need to dream.’——I hope an oak is not too poor a substitute for pine.”

Kor looked at the princess with wonderment and a measure of adoration he could not quite mask completely, and he laughed, shaking his head, “I am awed, my lady, you have found perhaps the only poem written by my people where wine does not accompany loneliness and parting.”

“Then your people do not drink enough!” Cried out the princess, raising her cup, “We shall drink to that, Prince Kor of Harad.”

Kor thought he must tell her ere his heart breaks, and then he shall have to do as every trope does, drink to parting. But just as he was about to open his mouth Araniel put down her goblet and took up the black bundle on the table, saying, “I have a gift for you. Turning thirty is a momentous occasion for your people, is it not so?”

Ai, if he must unleash sorrow let it be after some celebration at least! So Kor swallowed his bitter news and smiled valiantly once more, and he said, “Indeed, we say ‘At thirty one stands and shoulders his own doing’.”

“Then I hope my gift is worthy of the occasion.”

Princess Araniel shook open the black bundle, and suddenly Kor found himself staring at a beautiful robe, made in the fashion of formal robes his people wear, yet somehow subtly different. The cloth was smooth and supple, the rich midnight black only broken by the grey patterned brocade that formed the collar and the belt. The devices of his house, the crane and the clouds, were embroidered in silver upon black on the flowing sleeves, and there was an embroidered design of flowers encircling the hem and creeping up towards the belt, white and delicate like the kiss of snowflakes.

“Is that snowdrops at the hem?” Kor wondered out loud, “A symbol of the white city?”

“It is a flower called niphredil in Sindarin, a symbol of my foremother, but for you, it is a symbol of me, something to think of me by, if you will.” Araniel’s face was now behind the black robe, and her grey eyes peered out with an uncharacteristic shyness.

Kor was at such a loss for words that eventually he blurted out, “This is the fashion of my people, yet… I think it looks different somehow from the robes we have at home.”

Araniel laughed, and she said with clear pride, “I made it my way, of course. Your people do not cut the clothing exactly to the measurement of the person, relying on the belt to tighten it up; I guess people thought everything would hang loose and flowing anyway. But it will look far more handsome if the shoulder and chest area is cut to size and sewn fitted, believe me.” At the end of this explanation she blushed faintly. 

“You made it all by yourself?”

“Yes, so perhaps you will find the tailoring less than perfect. At least my embroidery is not to be trifled with.”

Kor fell silent again. There was naught he could say, for his chest swelled with joy, yet every joy was bitter. Araniel now looked puzzled, and she murmured, “Do you not like it? I know in Harad crimson and gold are the more common colors for ceremonial robes, but I thought your people love black well enough, so why not something that would be beautiful to the both of us?”

“It is beyond beautiful, therefore my heart is beyond sorrowed,” Kor spoke with difficulty, “After such a gift, I can only offer parting in return.”

“Oh.” Araniel paused a few moments, then she said with a small smile, “You are a prince after all, and have many duties to perform. No matter. When do you think you will take up the ambassador’s house again?”

“I do not think I shall return, Princess. My father is unwell; he calls me home to assume the greatest of my duties.”

Araniel stood frozen for a long time, still and pale and gleaming like the white tree before the fountain. After the initial shock passed her look became pensive. Slowly and deliberately she folded up the robe in her hand and laid the black bundle on the table, all the while wearing that thoughtful look. Kor took a deep breath and clenched his fist. Araniel’s silence made him bold, and he thought, if he should depart without ever returning, he might as well say his piece and let his heart be known. Why ever not? They were to be parted, and unrequited love would have no chance to fester into something ill; it would be forever fair and bittersweet, as a beautiful memory of a passing summer.

“Princess, ere we drink to our parting, I must tell you something near my heart.”

Araniel looked at him, expectant yet also fearful, and that strange expression made his chest constrict. He forced himself to turn away from Araniel’s silver grey gaze, lest he lose all courage, and he said, “I love you, Princess. I have loved you for many years, first as a dear companion and friend, and now as that which is more beloved than all else under heaven. I know not what this love means; ai, it means nothing, for harrowing dangers and duties await me, and you are the heir of Arnor and Gondor. Yet I wish to tell you, Princess, for I will soon be gone forever from your world, and this memory might warm your heart a little should you think of it on a cold winter day.”

There, he said his piece. So he refilled the two goblets with wine.

“My lady, we can now drink to parting.”

Araniel would not take the cup, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

“I cannot drink in wrath to parting, my lord. My heart shuddered with joy hearing love from your lips, and now that heart is aflame with anger. You feelings must be shallow then, and your words insincere, for a love to be so quickly discarded as meaningless!” 

Kor gasped like a fish out of water. He lost count of how many times Araniel had rendered him utterly speechless this day. The grey-eyed princess continued, “If I love and am loved with the same vigor, I would let nothing part us forever. No grudge is greater, and no duty demands its sacrifice; no gulf is too wide, and no hardship too bitter. Such is the nature of true love, my lord.”

“If I know she whom I love loves just as well, then every sacrifice and duty and hardship will be borne together and made lighter,” Kor murmured breathlessly, “Do you love me, Araniel?”

“Do you still need to ask, truly?” Araniel husked. 

“I have to ask, lady, for I fear longing would deceive my eyes, and I might read your compassionate friendship for something else. Such is the gulf between our places in this world that I must know your heart with every certainty before I dare to ask so great a boon.”

“I am no boon nor prize!” Araniel spoke fiercely, “I love you, and I want to be with you.”

“Then my lady, will you, may I…” Kor could barely find the words. He took a deep breath, before beginning anew, “Forgive me for stumbling over my words, it is not the way of my people. Now, my lady, will you consent to be my wife?”

“Yes! A thousand times yes!” 

Araniel laughed and threw her arms around the Southron prince. Kor was shorter than her, but he was strong and at the prime of his life, and the elation of the moment made him wild with joy. He hoisted Araniel off the grass and twirled her around, laughing like a child. Yet the elation did not last long; both sobered quickly and drew back from their exhilarated embrace. Araniel looked a touch sad, yet ever more determined. She asked Kor, “Do you want me to go to Harad with you?”

“‘Tis something we shall determine together, my lady wife,” The Southron prince seemed thoughtful and uncertain, and he spoke slowly, “My father and my people need me, and I must go for now. If, if you might be happy even far away from your home and your kin, I would have you become the new Empress of Harad. If you cannot bear to be parted from the White City, I will return to you, I swear it. I have three younger brothers, and there are many capable men at court; the empire will not be short a leader should I decide to make my mark elsewhere in the world.”

“Do you not desire the golden throne of Harad? It is yours by right. Will you be happy here in Minas Tirith, away from your people and the glory you could have known?” Araniel asked, almost fearful.

“Will you, Princess of Arnor and Gondor?” Kor returned the question in a gentle voice, “Ai, my love, one of us will have to be away from kin and kith, away from glory and power befitting our births. No matter, that we will decide together.”

Araniel smiled and she said, “Perhaps we can be equally distant from home, we can live somewhere in the middle. Father would not mind giving me a fiefdom by the sea near Umbar…” But her voice faltered and died before she could finish, for she had ventured into a quarrelsome topic: every attempt to delineate a border around Umbar in the past thirty years had been in vain.

Kor laughed softly, and he said, “We will have to learn how to discuss these things calmly too.”

“I shall not get angry if you will not,” Araniel smiled, and then she spoke with determination, “Let me go with you to Harad, my lord. I would like to meet your father and your people.”

Kor seemed surprised, “Do you want to?”

“You have met my father and seen my city, I would like to have the same. And how should I decide whether I can be happy as the Queen of Harad if I never see what she is like?”

Kor nodded but his voice was grave, “My position at home can be precarious. I know not how my father and his councilors at court will react to you. With you by my side they might be more convinced that I am enthralled by the northern King, or they might like me a little better for a new emperor, for your father is still remembered with great awe and love, despite everything else.”

“I would never want to endanger your position…”

Kor interrupted with a gesture, “Not so hasty; I am not saying you should not come with me, only letting you know of the situation. It is of course very uncertain, but Araniel, I do want you to see Harad; I want to show you every wonder and beauty there. I think your life would be all the richer for it!”

“My life is richer by your side, no matter where I am.” 

The light in her eyes made Kor laugh. He leaned in close and said in a low voice, “We will be together, love, whether here or in Harad, whether as rulers or as simple fishers by the sea, it matters not, but we will be together. We will see the world together, and nothing will come between us.‘In life and death I pledge to thee, to hold thy hand and together go into the night.’”

“‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health,’”Whispered Araniel, “‘Until death and still we would not part’.”

That was all the speech they needed, and suddenly every trouble seemed trivial, and the world became a wide expanse of possibilities and adventures, jubilant and bright, free of weighty things. They kissed under the oak tree while snowdrops glistened by their feet.

They did not savor the moment long, for suddenly they heard a familiar voice thundered low, “This is quite enough!”


	3. Kings and Fathers

A figure stepped into the garden, dark-haired and grey-eyed, inconspicuously attired yet the most high-born of the high-born lords, tall as the King himself, slender and pale yet radiating strength and power—one of the Queen’s elder brothers. Based on stories and gossips, this mighty lord was not just the Queen’s elder brother, but also the King’s childhood caretaker and teacher, skilled in every art imaginable, and of a higher lineage than even the King himself. (What did that even mean? Surely for the bloodline-obsessed Gondorians no lineage could be greater than the line of Kings?)

If it were in Harad, Kor could not help but muse to himself, such a brother of a queen would be every cabinet minister’s worst nightmare.

“Uncle Elladan!” Araniel called a little breathlessly.

Kor bowed rather stiffly, murmuring a greeting that was barely loud enough to be heard.

“When, when did you arrive here, uncle?” Araniel asked. 

The elf-lord ignored his niece, instead fixed his grey eyes on Kor. Eventually the Lord Elladan said in a low and almost threatening voice, “You make a poor ambassador, Prince Kor of Harad. What you have done, it would be disgraceful were you a lord of Gondor, but as a prince of Harad such an action might invite true enmity.”

Kor spent all of his willpower and strength on standing straight and not cowering, he could not say anything in response. This great lord had all of the King’s eldritch power but none of the King’s easy warmth. 

“Uncle!” Araniel snapped, “Do not act as if you caught me a helpless victim, uncle. I am standing right here, and you should do well to speak to me too. The prince asked for my hand and I have accepted; he is to be my husband.”

Elladan turned to Araniel, at first full of only astonishment and disgruntlement. He stared at her intently for a few moments, then realizing the unshakable truth in her grey eyes, his face was drawn together in pain. 

“I know every argument I can make against it would sound hypocritical, seeing who I am and who you are, but my child!” The elf-lord exclaimed, “Do you know the pain you invite, to your family and to yourself? You know the ways of his people!”

Kor finally recovered his voice at such a challenge, and he said with solemnity, “My lord, I love the princess with all my heart and I love her alone. There will be no other woman in my life, whatever the laws and customs of my land dictate. So long as I draw breaths and my mind is intact, I will let nothing besmirch my pledge to her.”

“Even if your words can be so easily believed, there are things beyond your breaths and mind!” Elladan spoke with a stormy expression. He looked as if he wanted to say more but controlled his wrath. Instead he said, “Araniel my child, as much I love you, I am neither your father nor your King. I will let the King and Queen know there is something they need to address as soon as possible; expect an audience tonight.”

Kor knew this would be no easy pleasant exchange, but still he was less than prepared to face a hall of glorious but grim lords. The King sat upon his tall throne at the end of the dais, his otherworldly beautiful queen by his side. The King rarely sat on the tall throne, only on most grand and severe state occasions, for no one could see his face well up there. But this night he chose the throne. Prince Faramir sat in the Steward’s chair at the foot of the dais, his usually gentle countenance now dark and hard. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was present, as was Lord Halladan of Arnor. The Queen’s brothers were arrayed in uncharacteristic finery, now looking like colder, more distant, less flesh-and-blood versions of the King of Gondor and Arnor himself. Beside these known faces, there was another: a tall lord, obviously elven-kind, with long hair of silver that seemed like a waterfall under starlight and eyes of startling green. This silver-haired being looked vaguely familiar to Kor, and he wondered, but he could not stare long enough to identify this familiarity, for looking into that ageless visage hurt. As Kor approached the throne, every step seemed to become heavier. He had of course seen all those great lords before except the silver-haired one, individually, in their better moods, but now that they were all gathered in one place, grim and fey and fell, they seemed so much larger than life, and Kor was terrified. 

Araniel took his hand and led him, whispering with an untroubled smile, “They are my family and friends, and many are your friends too, my love, there is no reason to fear them now.”

They stopped before the dais leading up to the throne, and Araniel spoke with a light and confident voice, “Your Majesty, Prince Kor and I come before you with a humble request.”

There was a momentary silence, before the King said, “If the Prince of Harad has a request, then let him speak.” His intonation was incredibly formal. 

Kor took a deep breath. He grasped Araniel’s hand tightly, as if holding on for strength and for his very life, and he spoke, “Your Majesty, it seems to me that your daughter Princess Araniel is the fairest gem this earth has surrendered, and she has captured my heart ever since when we were but children. I have loved her unfailingly for many long years, and now I know she loves me the same, I can let nothing part us. I have dared to ask for her hand in marriage, and the princess agreed. Then I must now beg of you, great King of the North, to grant me the hand of your daughter.”

Another drawn out silence. Then the King said with a heavy almost dangerous voice, “Daughter, you have accepted his proposal for marriage without first consulting your father and your King?”

“Father, we are here now seeking your blessing,” Araniel replied, voice still light, “I can hardly say no when he proposed! I love him so.”

“You are my eldest and my heir,” The King spoke again, “You are first in line for the Winged Crown and the Scepter of Anuminas.”

Araniel was genuinely puzzled by this, and she said with a small frown, “But the title of Heir Presumptive can pass to Mirwen for now, and I am sure I will have a brother in the future; both you and mother have foreseen it. Arnor and Gondor are his to inherit. After all, our people detest ruling queens.”

“Yet until I declare another heir, you are the heir!” The King’s voice boomed like a rush of thunder. 

“If this is the chief concern, I will of course draft a proclamation renouncing my claim and the claim of all my progeny to the throne of Arnor and Gondor. Cursed by all the power of my blood be any of my line who dares to lay claim on the Crown of Gondor and the Scepter of Arnor! I will claim nothing of the north save what you are willing to give to a princess who marries faraway in memory of home, Your Majesty.” Araniel still sounded confident, as if this were a simple issue easily resolved. 

There was silence again, then the King said, a strand of bitter disappointment clear in his voice, “Is this how you would treat your princely duties, so flippantly and without a care in the world, you would simply walk away from it all, renounce it as if it were some mere trifle? I did not know until this day that I have raised such an empty-headed and selfish creature!”

Araniel was clearly startled and she took a step back, slender frame suddenly trembling. She seemed paler yet her starlight eyes blazed, and she looked as if ready to sprout out an angry speech, so Kor seized her hand again.

“Calmly now, my love,” He whispered to the princess. 

Araniel took a deep breath before saying, “I must beg you to reconsider calling me ‘empty-headed’ and ‘selfish’, Your Majesty. I am the Heir Presumptive; I have been raised with the clear understanding that I will one day have a brother who shall become a great king after my royal father, but such a fate is not mine. The Crown and the Scepter are not meant for me and will never be mine, so you should understand if I do not feel bound by their weight.”

Kor winced a little. This may very well be the truth but it still sounded wrong for the princess of the realm and the appointed heir to say so. So he hastily added, “Your Majesty, please understand that I would never stand between the princess and her duties to her people. Surely these obstacles can be overcome, and I am willing to do my part, make whatever sacrifices…”

Finally the King turned to face Kor, and even across the tall dais Kor could feel those keen, piercing grey eyes and he could not help but shrink.

“Prince of Harad,” The King’s voice was colder than anything to be experienced in the southern realm, “Yet again you and yours abuse my goodwill so abominably.”

Kor shivered; he knew this line was not addressed to him alone, but also to his father and to the land of Harad. His heart sank, yet at the same time he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to rise to the challenge: did the northern King not play his people false too, pledging shining promises while harboring dubious intents? He almost threw out the appellation “Grand Marshal” before all the lords of Gondor and Arnor, in memory of a time when his people had a genuine claim over this great man. Fortunately Araniel spoke again before he could seriously offend.

“Please, mother,” Now the princess appealed to the queen, “You see much, and surely you have seen my heart; you know I can never be happy otherwise.”

The ever serene and lovely queen looked visibly troubled. She put a hand on her husband’s arm, as an encouragement or perhaps as a silent restraint. When she spoke she only said, “My child, you must know there are difficulties, as much as we love you and wish you joy.”

Araniel looked truly shocked and betrayed, and she murmured, “Even you, mother?”

And then the Lord Steward spoke up, saying, “Your Highness, as the heir presumptive of the realm, your marriage does need the consent of the council.”

“And not just in the southern realm,”Lord Halladan added grimly, “The High Council of Arnor must hear and judge this as well.”

“Of course I know all the legalities of the issue, but I was hoping I would have approval and even see joy from family and friends first,” Araniel looked on the verge of tears, “I will do all that is required of me. I am not so thoughtless I would let my own happiness endanger my kingdom and my King in any way—nor should it endanger the kingdom of my beloved! The war is behind us; should this not be a happy union that will cement friendship and alliance? Father, you have always said you love Kor like a son, yet when I would make him a true son of yours, all I see from you is such reluctance and bitterness!”

Before the King could stand up in indignation Prince Faramir did so. He spoke softly but with full authority, “Princess, you are out of line.”

Kor was feeling like he could not breathe. Had the ire of all those great lords of the Reunified Kingdom been directed at him, had they found him wanting or insincere, then perhaps he could do something. He could answer those challenges, swear his love, pledge enduring friendship between Harad and the North, offer the princess everything he had to offer, which would not seem inconsequential even next to Gondor and Arnor’s glory. But everyone ignored him, as if he were not a part of this conversation. He had the distinctive feeling that all the arguments presented so far were but excuses, and no one would voice the true reason behind the reluctance, and he simply felt powerless. He did not know how to even begin arguing his case. 

Just then the Queen spoke up quietly, “We are all too distraught this night. Let us retire to our own chambers and sleep on this news, and speak again another day with more clarity than what we can muster tonight.”

The King nodded stonily and was about to dismiss them all when the silver-haired elf-lord suddenly raised his head. 

“Elessar King, if I may,” The elf-lord said, standing and offering a small bow, respectful but at the same time high and dignified. His voice was deep and clear, like the murmur of ancient springs in some esoteric forest glade. 

The King nodded, “Of course, my lord Celeborn.”

“Of this union, the political difficulties are not insurmountable, the advantages enough, and the personal griefs always overcome by joy. Yet I sense some unspoken objections, especially from you, Elessar. I know not all details, though I can read the shape of your silent fears.” Celeborn paused. He only glanced at the man upon the tall throne briefly, and then he said, “Many long years ago, long even as my kindred accounts it, when Beren son of Barahir first presented himself in the great hall of Menegroth, Elu Thingol my King said, the services of the father avail not the son.”

There was a sort of silent collective gasp in the great hall, it was without sound but Kor did hear it. He saw all those great lords, even the King, stiffen in their seats. Araniel quailed a little; she seemed to grow paler still. Kor was the only one who did not understand the weight of everything the elf-lord had just said.

The elf-lord continued serenely, “Mad with anger my King had been then, he was not wrong in that. Though I say to you the reverse, Elessar King, the crimes of the father reduce not the son. This matter is for you to judge freely, but judge the young man before you, and judge the kingdom at your border now. Ai, strange words coming from me, but that should give you even more to think on.”


	4. The Elder Youth

Kor could not sleep; he tossed and turned like a caged animal. This did not go as he had hoped. Though what did he expect anyway, that the King of Arnor and Gondor would happily allow his beloved daughter and heir marry a prince of Harad? He should have seen it coming, but he was in the throe of the most unimaginable joy, and he could hardly think. All of his plans were in disarray now. What would he do? He could not linger in Minas Tirith, he had at most a few days left here; his father was ill and he must go home, he could do nothing else. And then what? Should he play the ancient game and defend his claim to the throne? There always lay the risk of losing everything, even his life; he did not fear that risk before, but now he had everything to live for and cared nothing for the throne. And what if he wins the throne, only to find Araniel miserable sharing it? The golden throne of Harad is not something to be surrendered once won. Perhaps he should simply appeal to his father and abdicate the title of Crown Police, let the title go to one of his younger brothers in peace. Or perhaps it was all too much futile planning on his part: what if Aragorn Elessar simply refuses to give him the princess’s hand? Or worse yet, what if the northern King stipulates that he should win the golden throne of Harad, and then demand an exorbitant treaty in exchange for the princess? But surely Elessar was too noble a man to do such a thing…

After what seemed like forever, Kor finally fell into fitful slumber. The next morning he woke early enough, yet already an order of business unrelated to his highly problematic marriage proposal was waiting for him.

“Your Highness, a diplomatic entourage from Harad has arrived this morn,” His Chief Secretary Airan told him formally, “They were shown to the ambassador’s house a short while ago. Would Your Highness like to see them now?”

Kor stared at his companion uncomprehendingly, “A diplomatic entourage? What is this? I have never heard of this before now, and I am the chief ambassador!”

“Nor have I, Your Highness, no word of it came to us, formally or informally. Yet I do not think this is wholly bad news,” Airan spoke with a thoughtful look, “The Elder Princess is here.”

Kor blinked again, “My great aunt is here?”

“Yes.”

“For the love of Heaven, why? Is she…”

“Your Highness,” Airan reminded his prince with a small smile, “This is the Elder Princess; I think at the very least she would not be your opponent.”

Kor drew a deep breath, checked his sleeves and collar instinctively, and then said, “Let me wash my face and fix my hair, and then I will see her of course. Have the girls open a bottle of the wine gifted by Queen Arwen, will you? I think my great aunt will enjoy that.”

Once Kor made himself ready, he walked into the parlor where the Elder Princess was already seated waiting, tasting the wine. She was without her ladies-in-waiting, which meant she wanted a private talk, so Kor sent the servants and even Airan away. Kor walked into the room alone and bowed before the great lady, murmuring, “Great aunt, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

The Elder Princess smiled at him, all warmth and familiarity. She was dressed in a relatively simple traveling robe that was still floridly embroidered, her hair braided and piled high in the fashion of Haradrim noblewoman, yet never had she looked more out of place in her usual finery. Yuni was her name, the lady of the moon, and she ever looked the part, unbelievably beautiful yet also distant and strange, just like a wheel of cold moon in the night sky. With her towering height, her alabaster skin and her startling green eyes, her hair of gleaming starlight silver, and her tender youthful face at the advanced age of nearly ninety, she would look far more at home standing beside the royalty of Gondor than in the fashion of Harad. In fact, Kor realized with a start, she was indeed family to the royalty of the White City, with real blood ties, at least based on those snatches he had heard from King Elessar. And despite all the love and reverence Kor had for the Elder Princess, she would forever remain adopted family, the foundling little sister rescued from a shipwreck by Kor’s great-grandfather the late King of Near Harad. She could never look like real family. Theirs was a kinship forged by circumstances and exigencies, it was nothing primordial and unshakable. 

“Are you quite alright, Kor?” Princess Yuni noticed his sudden melancholy, “You seem so very sad, my child. what did you hear from Tantor?”

“Ill news from home and less than felicitous news here too,” Kor murmured, “I have much to tell you, great aunt, but I would hear your news first. Why are you here? Did you… Did you finally decide to return home to your own kin?”

The Elder Princess put a milky white hand on his arm and said in a firm voice, “You are my kin too, Kor. I will be with you all for as long as my children and my brother’s children remember me and need me. I came north to find you, and to bring you home by a safe route. The situation in Tantor has been very unsettling of late.”

“How is my father?” Kor asked with alarm.

“He lives, though his mind is slipping,” Yuni spoke with a sigh, “When his mind is clear he longs for your return and prepares for your rule, yet in his more muddled moments he curses you and everyone he has no right to curse and he dotes on your younger brothers. The entire court is scheming, I myself among them.”

Kor smiled sadly, “Yet you hate scheming. Is that why you came north then? To find me, but also to escape the frivolity of it all.”

“Choosing a new ruler and paving way for him is no frivolity,” The Elder Princess chided, “You have not spent much time with your younger brothers, Kor, but take it from me that they are poor candidates for the throne. If you feel any love and duty towards the empire of which you are a part, you will not shirk this and you will fight with every ounce of your strength to win the throne meant for you. That is why I am here, to do my part. You cannot take the typical sea route home now, for it will be watched, especially between the Blue Harbor and Tantor, you will be lonely and far from help. We will take the desert road, and then across the Bordering Mountains. Your uncle backs your claim and we will see what support he can offer you as you cross Near Harad. Once you are safely in Tantor, you can rely on those who have already set their hearts on you.”

Kor felt his breath quicken a little. “So who are those people?”

Yuni smiled briefly, “My son, for one, and the board of treasurers which he commands. Your mother’s brothers and their children, of course; the House of the Blackwing naturally stands behind you. And the two young generals in the imperial guard——when and how did you win them over? You have many loyal friends in Tantor, so do not disappoint them now. You know my son has always loved you dearly, ever since you were but children.”

Kor smiled too, “I know, and I him. Ai, he even wanted to come with me as a hostage to Minas Tirith when we were little.”

“And I am glad you could dissuade him even then,” The Elder Princess took Kor’s hand, “You were a toddler of seven and already you had the markings of a great leader, my child, and now you are the one Harad needs and deserves. Will you return home with me and take the desert road as I suggest?”

“Of course I trust you with all my heart, great aunt, yet will the White Reed Clan stand behind me? Surely you must heed what they think.”

The Elder Princess’s face suddenly darkened, and she said in a low voice, “My lord husband has been gone for many years now, as is his younger brother. The rest of the clan matters not to me. They can sell their daughters to mother princes if they so wish, but my son and I will be directed by our own heart and eyes, not the likes of them.” She sighed again, before saying, “No, they will not stand behind you, but do not hold it against them, Kor, they are just as your mother’s house. I am with you always…”

She never finished that sentence, for there was a gentle rap at the door.

“Princess Yuni of Harad, Your Highness,” An unfamiliar voice spoke outside of the door, “His Majesty has heard of your arrival and is most eager to see you. He begs you to grace the feast with your presence.”

The Elder Princess fell silent for a long moment, her eyes suddenly lit with both anticipation and dread, but finally when she opened her mouth she spoke in a perfectly level voice, “I thank you for your message. Please inform His Majesty I will be there shortly with Harad’s Crown Prince.”

The messenger outside took his leave. Kor murmured, “We will continue this conversation another time, great aunt, for now I suppose we must pay our respects to the royalty here. Should I send in your ladies?”

“Yes, thank you,” The Princess fingered a pearl pin in her hair with a rare distracted look, “I suppose I need help with my hair.”

When the Elder Princess was ready to be presented to the King of Arnor and Gondor, she had swapped her traveling robe for a blue-grey silk gown, sumptuously embroidered with flowers and cranes in silver-white thread. She now wore her glorious silver hair loose, falling behind her like a star-lit river that flowed to the crook of her knees. Kor had always known her as great aunt, a venerated elder, yet still he could be astounded by her breathtaking beauty. He felt a measure of secret relief too, for though his great aunt released her hair, she still wore a gown of Harad.

They walked together to the citadel and were led into the private garden behind the royal suite. Their train of servants and guards were left outside of the private quarter, and when they stepped into the garden Kor saw the only people there were the King and the Queen, their two daughters, the Queen’s brothers and the silver-haired elf-lord. Kor gulped discreetly, for he had just realized that this was to be a family gathering, and he would be so painfully out of place. Everyone sat perfectly still in their chairs strewn across the garden as Kor and Yuni entered, their expression betraying nothing, yet there was a sense of shock and awe hanging in the air. 

Yuni stood before the King of Arnor and Gondor. She curtesied and bowed her head in the manner of the southrons and she offered a greeting in slightly accented Westron, “Hail, King of Arnor and Gondor! Hear now the greetings of the royal house of Harad, who thanks and praises the friendship of Your Majesty. May your reign be long and blessed!”

“Yuni, beloved sister,” Aragorn spoke to her in Haradrim with a smile that was both overjoyed and infinitely sorrowful, “No such formality is needed between us.”

Yuni raised her silver head and she spoke in Sindarin, green eyes aglow, “Let me greet thee anew then! Mae g'ovannen, Estel. Êl síla erin lû e-govaned 'wîn.”

“Suilad, gwathel nin,” Replied Aragorn, standing up and extending a hand to her, “Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni, Ithiliel.”

She put her hand in Aragorn’s, at first a little tentatively, but they quickly swept into a tight embrace. Yuni’s green eyes glittered with unshed tears, she murmured with a quiet sob, “I am sorry, Estel, I am so sorry! After all you have done for me, for all of us, we did nothing to repay you, only furthered your hurts and misery. That war, and everything before, I…I should have reined Tunya in, I should have tried harder at the very least! Oh Estel…”

“You saved my life, Ithiliel,” Aragorn said gently, “Nothing I suffered was at your hand, and indeed you were powerless to stop those confrontations; I know you tried, gwathel nin. Still you risked everything you loved and used every art you did not even know you possessed to save me. I am grateful and forever indebted. ”

Yuni shook her head, murmuring, “No, Estel, you owe me nothing; indeed I am the indebted one.”

Aragorn laughed and kissed her hand, saying, “Let us not dwell on debts and guilt, for we are dearest friends and kin, are we not? I have waited patiently for many years for your return to the north, gwathel, as have many others. Will you not greet them?”

Yuni took a couple small steps back, looking at the people gathered before her with a rare nervous stillness. Aragorn brought his Queen forward and said, “Meet Queen Arwen Undomiel, my most beloved wife, the daughter of Elrond Peredhil and Celebrian daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel, and your cousin.”

Yuni peered at Arwen with eyes suddenly shy, looking exactly like how a fledging of less than ninety years should look. She curtsied and murmured, “Suilad, hiril nin. My father often spoke of you when I was little, beloved sister-daughter he would call you. I… I have always longed to meet you, for father said you are the fairest who walks Middle-earth this age.” 

Even the perpetually serene Evenstar now seemed on the verge of tears. She embraced Yuni and said, “And you are the dearest, beloved Nimros, last elven-child. We were all so devastated upon hearing you lost at sea, so young and already besieged by the cruelest of misfortunes. I tried to do what I can for uncle Amroth and lady Inglorel, but they were inconsolable.”

“I thought I had lost them, for I saw great waves swallowing them both,” Replied Yuni, face now streaming with tears, “I am sorry for hiding away all those years, for fate has been kind to me, giving me a new home and new kinsmen, yet I had not thought of all of you and your crueler lot!”

“Nay! You have nothing to apologize for, dearest. But come, let us not waste such a joyous occasion on griefs past and done. Let us rejoice as we should. Come and meet my brothers, who combed the southern lands and seas with your father and mother for many years before sending their great ship off into the West.”

So Elladan and Elrohir embraced their little cousin in turn as well. Then the two princesses of Gondor came to the fore and curtsied to their aunt. Yuni was led before Celeborn by Aragorn at the very last, and the King of Men introduced quietly, “Lord Celeborn of Lorien, your grandfather.”

Celeborn took the hand of his long-lost granddaughter, silently watching her, as if taking in a wholly new sight. At last he said, “Nimros Amrothiel, I see that you have many new names.”

“Just the one,” Yuni laughed, “My foster parents named me Yuni, which means ‘moon girl’ in the southern tongue; ‘tis the hair, you see. So Estel calls me Ithiliel too. I have not heard the name Nimros for many long years, but it lightens my heart to hear you say it, grandfather.”

“Indeed,” Celeborn took a long pause, before saying, “Yet you will not stay with us, my child, you will not even linger here for more than a few days.”

Yuni took a step back, and suddenly she seemed uncertain and torn, her green eyes shadowed, yet there was also a strange determination in her. She said in a low voice, “I came north to bring a message to my kinsman and to take him home by a safe road. There… There is much to be done in Tantor.”

“Kinsman,” Celeborn murmured, his face smooth, but beside him the Peredhil twins furrowed their brows. 

Even Aragorn looked trouble as he said, “I thought you are finally returning to us, that you are here to stay, to spend time with your nearest kin, and to sail into the West after tiring of these shores.”

Yuni averted her eyes and she spoke very quietly, “My son is there, as are all of my brother’s children. My nephew is very ill and he will soon pass, the empire stands at the crossroad, my people need me. I cannot abandon them, not just for their sake but for mine also.”

“Your people,” Celeborn murmured once more.

Yuni flinched, but she turned back to face the elf-lord, looking directly into his green eyes.

“They are my people now,” So spoke the Elder Princess of Harad, “They will always be my people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on characters: Nimros/Yuni is an original character I dredged up. Her father is Amroth son of Celeborn and Galadriel. I decided to go with the Amroth son of Celeborn version just to make Celeborn's life more interesting. Her mother I named Inglorel, which is an older version of the name given to Nimrodel. I am not using Nimrodel because I want to avoid association with the Amroth and Nimrodel story as told by Legolas. My Amroth and Inglorel lived by the sea in the old elf-haven Edhellond with a small contingent of elves. They were a merry band of mariners who loved to explore the seas. Then it is as told in the story, on one of those family sailing trips way down south past the haven of Umbar they encountered a storm, everybody got tossed into the sea, Nimoros washed up ashore and was adopted by Kor's great-grandparents; her own parents looked for her for a long time without finding her, and at last exhausted and despairing, Amroth and his wife sailed.


	5. Love and Mortality

A long and heavy silence stole into the garden. Everyone stood frozen, and it seems that the air itself stilled. Kor shrunk back further still, feeling a sudden stab of strange misery. He should have been happy, hearing his great aunt pledge loyalty to Harad, yet this silent and still garden seemed to make such a declaration unbearably sad. Araniel had silently come to his side; when his lady slipped her hand into his Kor finally took a deep breath.

Queen Arwen was the one who broke the silence. She spoke with a sweet smile, "Let us not stand here in silence as time flies away from us. Come, Nimros dearest, let the two of us go to my chamber and share some words as sisters might. Uncle Amroth has entrusted to me a few things that he wants you to have, should you be found one day, perhaps you would like to see them."

Arwen took her little cousin's hand and led her away gently yet firmly, disappearing behind an arched door into the private royal quarter. After they disappeared Kor also took his leave. Araniel hesitated a moment, but then asked for leave to go, determined to find Kor. Now that the Elder Princess of Harad was here to take Kor home, there was much for them to discuss. Her royal father stared at her for a long time, before he finally nodded his head with a stony face, jaws clenched tight.

When Araniel slipped into the Ambassador's House and found Kor poring over a map. Upon seeing her he looked stunned for a few moments, before giving her a slow smile.

"His Majesty allowed you to come find me?" The Haradrim prince said teasingly, "Should I be at least a little hopeful?"

"You need not to be hopeful, for you can be completely assured," Araniel raised her chin and spoke with determination, "I am not leaving you, no matter what."

Kor kissed her hand and held it tightly, yet his face was grave. He said, "Though we can hardly elope, my love. Listen, my great aunt brought me ill news: my father's mind is slipping, and I must rush home. She told me my younger brothers are hardly suited to lead, and if I have any love for my home and for my people I need to go claim that golden throne. My great aunt has seen three generations of kings, I trust her absolutely; if she says I am needed then I am indeed needed. I know I promised you we can even be simple fishermen by the sea, yet now it seems an impossible childhood fantasy. So, my most beloved, do you think you might be happy as the empress of the southern realm?"

Araniel flashed him a fierce smile and said, "Surely you do not think you can frighten me away with those words, love. I have been a princess all my life and being a queen will suit me just as well."

To that Kor smiled also, but he was still somber as he said, "Yet we both heard your royal father yesterday, Araniel. You do need to wait for Council approval and sort through the legalities of it all. Which means we do have to be parted for a while." Seeing Araniel's shocked expression he quickly added, "Peace, my love, only for a while. Once I secure my title and throne I will send a full diplomatic entourage and raise the marriage proposal officially. 'Tis only fitting and will no doubt make your royal father feel easier about many things."

"Yet I will be parted from you indefinitely," Araniel was a touch reluctant still, "And what if anything should go wrong? What if you are in danger? I would be faraway and powerless to help."

"There will always be risk and uncertainty in everything, we can only fight as our hearts direct," Kor murmured, kissing Araniel's hand once more, "Though I think the situation has taken a turn for the better this morn. Now that my great aunt is here, I have a mind to ask her to stay for a while in Minas Tirith, to spend more time with her close kin, and also to keep you company and be your ally and friend should you need one."

"Your great aunt? Oh you mean the Lady Nimros," There was an awed look on Araniel's face as she murmured, "I have heard a little about her from father before, and it seemed so incredible to me——an elven lady adopted by your people and raised as a princess of the south! Yet it is still more extraordinary to see her in the flesh; her features look so like Lord Celeborn's, yet she also seems a true kinswoman of yours, almost unlike a Firstborn. Do you think I should call her 'great aunt' in the future?"

Kor raised a dark eyebrow. "She is your aunt, is she not? Your mother calls her cousin."

Araniel gave him a coy look, "Yes, but if you call her great aunt while I call her aunt, then how would you then address me?"

Kor laughed and pinched her cheek, "I shall call you 'silly goose', you silly goose!"

"But this silly goose has been taught by some of the oldest and wisest beings who still walk these shores, so let me help you however I can," Araniel snuggled closer, eying the map Kor had laid out, "Are you looking for the best route home? Lady Nimros said something to that effect."

"Indeed," Kor sighed, "I am pondering how many soldiers my uncle might give me and how far those soldiers might accompany me before being construed——believably——as a threat to my own father. I am grateful you would want to help, yet you do not know my country and our strange politics."

"Will you not teach me? Methinks I should learn as much as I can."

"Of course," Kor was smiling again despite himself, and he said, "I guess my uncle is as good a place as any to start. My forefather was made Prince of Near Harad more than three centuries ago by the first emperor of the last dynasty, and my house has ruled this northern borderland ever since. After my grandfather and father conquered all of Harad and my father made himself the first Emperor of a new dynasty, he gave Near Harad to his beloved little brother. But my uncle is the last prince of the empire; no one else has the right to raise an army except by the command of the Emperor. So you see, though uncle is far from the capital of the empire, his support or disavowal will be crucial, yet my uncle is a scholarly soul with quiet but firm beliefs. I am glad he is already on my side, for I can hardly sway him."

Araniel listened intently and at the end of the speech she nodded, saying, "A scholarly soul you say? That reminds me, father mentioned your uncle once, the younger prince of Harad; he told me this amusing tale about your uncle trying to learn Sindarin. Though I always accused father of conjuring up fairy tales of faraway places to make me practice my letters——was the story true?"

"Oh yes!" Kor laughed, "Great aunt never wanted to teach him in earnest, but he still managed to wrangle from her every single song she knew! My uncle can sing the Hymn to Elbereth, and a number of lullabies perhaps even you do not know."

"So it seems I have accused my royal father most unfairly all those years!" Araniel spoke with mirth, but a moment later she seemed faintly puzzled, "How does my father know all of this? Was it because his friendship with Lady Nimros? It sometimes seems like father knows everything about everyone, even in Harad!"

Kor became very still. He stared at Araniel for a long time, before asking, "Did His Majesty never tell you about his days in Harad?"

Araniel blinked. "No, father does not speak much about his errantry, not even about his days as Thorongil here in Gondor. Sometimes he offers a light and amusing tale, but when others press him with questions he rarely answers, saying some memory lanes are not to be walked again. He mentioned his days in Harad only a handful of times, and he never spoke at length, only about the vastness of the empire and how he even led some troops there."

"Led some troops?!"

Kor had been a clueless baby when Aragorn——who was not Aragorn then——departed from Harad, yet still he could feel a strange sense of indignation and betrayal welling up. He knew it was unfair to think of it as betrayal, yet such was the pain of being left behind, of being considered less important than others, readily given up for some greater purpose in which Harad had no part to play. He did not remember any of it personally and already the collective consciousness of those around him left such distaste in his mouth.

Araniel noticed the shadow upon his brow, and she asked quietly with a rare stillness, "I know for many long years Gondor and Harad were bitter enemies. Was my father a hidden foe… Did he treat falsely with your people?"

"Yes. No! Ai, it was so very complicated. But fear not, princess, my people loved your royal father while he served as commander-in-chief in Harad, and they did not——still do not——know him as anything else. Most believe that he has passed away, for that was the story told to the empire at large, and they venerate him still. It is only those who know that he left us behind to serve Gondor, they are bitter and perhaps resentful, so unbelievably sad, and even guilty about something, I cannot tell. I only know the official history and those few glimpses told unwittingly by my elders and your father, much remains hidden to me. I am often puzzled and exasperated by this air of tragedy around the whole history; I do not know what it is about yet I cannot help but become ensnared within it."

"I am sorry, my heart," Araniel whispered.

"No, there is nothing to apologize for. Let us put this particular topic away for now, for it is best for you to read the history and ask those who were there; I am hardly a reliable source," Kor shook his head and breathed out a long sigh, "Let me tell you a little bit about the geography of the land and the great houses and clans. Then you can help me measure my paths home."

When Araniel slipped out of the Ambassador's House when the sun was westering. She felt like she learned but a little and was barely of any help, despite Kor's protests to the contrary, yet she could not stay any longer. There would be a feast tonight, she better not be caught off guard and spend some time freshening up. When she returned to the south wing of the royal house which she shared with her younger sister, she found that her sister had set up an easel in the parlor and was painting again.

Mirwen was a consummate painter, so extraordinarily talented that at the age of fifteen she has already conquered every heart within the Guild of Painters. Were she not a princess of the realm, surely one of those grandmasters at the Guild would have snatched her up for an apprentice. This day she worked on a portrait of an elf-lady: though the charcoal study was still rough, it was clearly their aunt, Lady Nimros daughter of Amroth Celebornion.

"Yet again you work magic, Mir," Araniel commented admiringly, "Not only are the features exact likeness, you have captured Lady Nimros's air."

Mirwen made a small noise. After a few more brush strokes she laid down the brush on the ledge of her easel and sighed. She said moodily, "No, there is much I sense from her that I cannot put to canvas yet. One meeting in the garden was simply not enough. How long do you think she will stay here in Minas Tirith? I would like to know her better to complete this portrait, and… And though I have just met her, already I am reluctant to see her leave."

"I know, my sweet. I think she will stay with us a while yet, certainly more than a few days. Kor is already making plans and will no doubt convince her. You can perhaps ask her to sit for you for an afternoon too. But for now shall we prepare for tonight's feast?"

"Is that where you have been all afternoon? Secreted away with your Prince Ambassador?" Mirwen gave her a glum look, "Soon you will leave me too; you will become a queen of strangers and I will have this wing of the house all to my lonesome self, and you will dump duties otherwise yours all in my lap. Surely Mirwen would not mind being named Heir to the Winged Crown, it is but a trifling business!"

"Oh dearest, I am so sorry, you know that is not how I feel!" Araniel put her arms around Mirwen and kissed her little sister's dark hair, "I should have talked to you about this sooner, alone. 'Tis only that things moved rather quickly. I myself did not know with clarity how he felt until yesterday; I despaired he should forever know me as a friend and a little sister! But Mirwen dearest, I would never let my own happiness become your burden. You know as well as I that our brother will come in time. Until then, the duties of Heir Presumptive can be dreary but are not so taxing."

"Oh, that is not my worry at all!" Mirwen hugged her sister and said, "I am sorry, I did not mean to speak like this. I would gladly bear even the Winged Crown itself if such will secure your happiness. I just wish we do not have to be parted, sister; I imagine once you are in Harad you can hardly visit. I am a little upset that you never told me about your regard for Prince Kor, and I am also frightened for you. Will you truly be happy there? I suppose Kor is a great man, as far as I know him, yet his people are so very different and strange in our eyes."

"Not so strange, at least they do not need to be so, for are we not all fellow men?" Araniel laughed, secure in the joy of her love, "I already speak their tongue and love the songs and poems of the south, and there are so many more things to love according to the tales! Indeed the thought of seeing the empire of Harad by the side of my beloved fills me with anticipation like I have never felt before."

"I am glad you are happy about the prospect, but, but…" A moment of hesitation later Mirwen burst out, "But their lives are so fleeting! They are fortunate if they live to the age of seventy, when you will be at the height of your beauty and power!"

Araniel froze with sheer surprise. No one had spoken to her about this yet; perhaps no one had had the chance. She was still pondering a reply when Mirwen spoke again, apparently appalled by herself, "I am sorry, sister, I do not mean anything ill by it. I just, I…"

"No, do not apologize, dearest," Araniel encouraged her, "Speak your heart openly; I would hear it."

So Mirwen drew a deep breath and said, "I was happy for you at first, for love sounds like such a wonderful thing to have, yet last night I barely slept at all, thinking of this. How long do you think you will have, sister, and what shall there be in all the years after? I eventually told myself I shall forget this shadow for your sake, yet this morning Aunt Nimros arrived, and I cannot turn my thoughts away from this." Then young Mirwen stared at the rough sketch of a portrait on her canvas, resolutely avoiding her sister's eyes.

Araniel tried to console her by directing their speech away, "Why should our aunt alarm you? Is it not a good thing that I will have a kinswoman who is high and beloved in my new home?"

"Perhaps it will be good," Mirwen murmured, "It just seems so unfair. She is our aunt, nana's only cousin, yet your beloved knows her better than any of our family. But do not distract me; I know that is what you are trying to do. Aunt Nimros told us she has a son—surely not a son with another Eldar, for none of the Firstborn dwells so far south. Did you see Lord Celeborn's face when she said it? He seemed to be drowning in the very air we breathe. I cannot claim to understand one so ancient and mighty, but surely that must be the same thing I feel when I think about you and your Haradrim prince."

So the question is not to be avoided. Araniel hugged her little sister once more and spoke soberly, "I have not considered this before, dearest, but I think it is not so hard. We do not know how many years are given to us, or what calamity might cut us down tomorrow, yet that is no reason to flee living. I have already had many years with Kor, and if fortune be so kind, we will have forty more, even fifty. As for all the years I will spend alone afterward, at least it will be forty years less than what I would have to spend alone otherwise."

Just then they heard a quiet and ancient voice speak, "'Tis what each and every single one of them has said."

Celeborn had come into the parlor without their knowing. Now he sat down in a chair in direct view of Mirwen's easel and he looked at the rough portrait with profound sorrow. The two princesses curtsied yet knew not what to say; even a greeting seemed inappropriate. Celeborn murmured, "Every single Sindarin princess lived with this blessed curse, to become so intimately entangled with mortality through love, and to drink its brew of unparalleled joy and loss. Yet the heart desires what it will." He finally turned to look at Araniel with a wan smile, "My child, no one faults you for pursuing your love and happiness, I only hope you would not fault those who look ahead and see sorrow out of their love for you."

"Of course, my lord, and I want to thank you for defending Kor and me yesterday before my father," Araniel hesitated a breath, then she solemnly declared, "Rest assured, my lord Celeborn, that I will do everything in my power for Aunt Nimros in the future. I will be her constant companion for as long as I dwell in Harad, I will protect her children and her house, everything I can do, it is done."

"I thank you," Celeborn nodded, then he stilled for a long time, staring at Mirwen's work in progress. Finally he spoke again, "Mirwen my child, I have come to you with this exact request. I hope to have a portrait of Nimros by your hand. One day I will bear it across the sea with me, and I think it will offer my wife and children what comfort there may be."


	6. The Grand Marshal's Men

On the fifth day after his great aunt’s arrival, Kor made ready to depart. Princess Yuni was loath to let Kor return home alone, but after Kor spoke of his desperate and still very much in the air marriage proposal, she had agreed to stay in Minas Tirith and support Araniel. If there was one thing Yuni wanted above all else, it would be to knit her two kins into one, and only for this was she willing to let Kor brace the uncertain road alone. After Kor said his farewells to his great aunt and to Araniel, and just as he turned to leave, a guard ran up to him.

“His Majesty requests a last audience before you depart Minas Tirith, Your Highness,” The guard spoke respectfully. 

On that final day of parting Aragorn Elessar looked pensive, his face darkened by both the past and the present. He handed Kor a stack of sealed letters and said, “‘Tis what I promised you, letters to those that may be of some help to you. There is even a letter to your father; read it first yourself if you will, and use it as you see fit. You should understand your own father well enough, so need no warning from me.”

Kor received those letters with unconcealed surprise. He did not expect this promised aid after his attempt to win the princess. Before he could say ought, Aragorn spoke again, “Tell me something, how large is the Lake Guard today?”

Kor stared at the King for a moment, at last he mumbled, “I, I should not tell you that, Your Majesty, why would you ask? You have never asked me for this kind of information before now.”

Aragorn gave him a very hard look. 

“You have not sought to become my son-in-law before now.”

Kor stood there silently with his heart pounding audibly in his chest, he did not know what to say. 

“Araniel has her heart set on you, and however reluctant I am I still need to make preparations accordingly. Yet this is not a blessing to your proposal, only one of the preliminaries that must be agreed upon,” Aragorn spoke gravely, “By the law of the last dynasty the Empress’s seal commands three thousand imperial guards, about a quarter of the total Lake Guard force. Your mother was Empress for a few fleeting years in the most uncertain times, the seal of the Empress meant little. Your father never named another empress after her, so I assume that seal was never used again. Is that law struck down yet or simply unused? How is the command of the Lake Guard distributed today?”

Kor blinked and asked, “Are you demanding that should Araniel become my Empress, her seal will command Lake Guards once more?”

“Indeed. Tell me those numbers.”

Kor swallowed, “The Lake Guard is fifteen-thousand strong today, ten-thousand navy and five thousand palace guards, commanded by one general and two younger lieutenants. The only seal that commands them is held by my father and him alone.”

“Then these are my demands,” So spoke Aragorn, “That when you come to the throne the Empress’s seal should command two thousand palace guards and two thousand navy, no less than a dozen warships. The Empress alone appoints officers to her own guard and navy. Those numbers shall increase accordingly if the total number of Lake Guard increases.”

Kor stared like an idiot, mouth hanging open. He would be less surprised had Aragorn demanded for his daughter’s hand one hundred miles in every direction around the Bay of Umbar. It took him a long time to realize that this force was there to ensure Araniel’s escape from Tantor should anything go wrong.

“I know the ways of your people, how little you value the wisdom of the fairer sex,” Aragorn spoke again, “And while it seems a fool’s way to turn a deaf ear to someone like lady Nimros or my own daughter, I will not press that point. Yet the Empress’s command over her own Lake Guard is a must.” 

By now Kor was more hurt than angry, he asked, “Do you truly think I would ever harm Araniel?” 

“I do not doubt your love nor your honor, as I did not doubt your father’s,” Aragorn’s eyes hardened into two frozen wells, “For all his faults he was still an honorable young man who loved me, I did not think he would harm me either, so I placed my life in his hands to an utterly ruinous end. If not for your great aunt and her high-born might I would have doomed myself and all of the West. No, Kor, yours is a love I can believe but not depend on. My daughter will not be caught alone and defenseless should your court darken or should your own heart turn. Satisfy these demands, and she might become your empress yet; else I would sooner lock her in a tower than surrender her to the mercy of your whims.”

Kor stared a moment longer, and then his questions burst forth without him truly intending it. “What happened?” He exclaimed, “The war is hard to forgive, I understand, but we have paid for it in full. Still there is something else haunting you. What is it then? Every man of Harad all but worshiped the Grand Marshal, so what could be so horrifying about your memory of my native land? What did my father ever do to you?!”

“Enough!” Aragorn’s eyes flashed molten silver, “Your manner is sorely lacking, Prince Ambassador. Seek your answers elsewhere, for I have no wish to speak of these things. Think about my terms; should you formally raise the marriage proposal I expect to see those demands satisfied. You may be on your way.”

Kor bowed stiffly and then turned. He was ready to flee when Aragorn called his name once more. The Haradrim prince turned back with uncertainty and found himself staring into eyes shadowed by profound sorrow. 

“I know you are not your father, Kor, and Harad is not what it once was when your father had been young,” Aragorn murmured, “I know my fears are not wholly rational. Please forgive an old father who has known too many pains. Yet Araniel loves you and has bound her life to yours, for that alone I would not impose conditions to simply bar your way to her, Kor, remember well that.”

Kor had finally recovered his wits by the time he reached Yunsong City at the foot of the Bordering Mountains. He told himself to forget everything of the north and just focus on his own situation. No feast welcomed him there, his uncle rushed him into a set of secluded rooms after he had had some time to breathe, and then unrolled a map before him.

“I know not what aunt and you have discussed yet, but I recommend you do not cross the plain of Siam and approach Tantor from the north shore,” So spoke Prince Lang of Near Harad, “You will be noticed and recognized too easily, and I do not fancy any news of you reaching Tantor before your person. Rather take the east road after crossing the mountains; I have a trading station on the Nur River thirty miles east, staffed by loyal men. My men can outfit your company as Khandian traders and put you in the swiftest runner boats. Your mother’s brother will no doubt do his part to ensure you sail into the Great Lake without being discovered.”

Kor pondered this for a few moments, before saying, “But surely Nur River is also an expected road, with you here and my other uncle the Governor of the Cataracts.”

“Few would suspect me to be your supporter; I have played my cards close. We will send out a caravan to cross the Siam plain as a decoy,” Lang frowned minutely here, “Your decoy was supposed to be aunt, a most convincing decoy that no opponent would dare to ignore. She was most determined to help you however she can, so I am rather surprised she is forsaking this plan to stay longer in Gondor.”

“The Elder Princess of the realm should never be anyone’s decoy!” Kor was aghast, “I would never let great aunt risk herself for me; it is just as well she is in Gondor then. I will agree to have a simple merchant caravan serving as my decoy, but not anyone important enough to come to actual harm!”

Lang smiled briefly and shook his head, “That is an unnecessary fear, no one would dare attacking the Elder Princess. And if any fool dares, he would be fortunate if he should live to regret it. You do not know what Her Highness is capable of. We would not know and could not even imagine what she was capable of until the Grand Marshal…”

And then the Prince of Near Harad stopped abruptly. He stared at the map in front of him with a darkened visage, and he would not speak. Kor breathed out slowly——so much for forgetting the northern King! He watched his uncle for a long time in silence, before asking softly, “The King of Gondor said great aunt saved his life once. Will you tell me that story at least, uncle?”

“And that is the story no one wishes to tell, for it shows us at our worst,” Lang spoke with a grimace, “If it is merely your curiosity at stake then I wish you would forget it, nephew. The matter is long behind us; it does no one any good to repeat the tale.”

Kor felt his patience almost snap. He could not help but rebuke sharply, “Should I not know our worst so that I may atone past atrocities and avoid future wrongs? And should I not know the Grand Marshal’s end so that I can face the man he has become: our most imposing foe and greatest ally alike? Should I not know this past grief that might still cause me and mine more griefs?” He drew a long, shuddering breath, before adding in a quieter voice, “I proposed marriage to Gondor’s princess, uncle, and all things aside, she herself is more than willing. I would like to know what happened between her father and mine.”

“What?!”

Lang finally forgot about the map, and he stared at Kor with a look akin to horror. Then finally the prince roared, his voice perhaps too loud even for these secretive rooms, “Are you mad? Do you want the throne or not?!”

“I do not particularly want it nor do I find it distasteful, yet I consider it a duty of mine to be the Emperor Harad deserves, as great aunt reminded me,” Kor said with grim determination, “But I will not give up the love of my life to perform the duty! Surely that is not required.”

Lang’s lips twitched, wanting to speak, but he could not find the words for a long time. Eventually he said, “Nothing less than the Empress’s seal would satisfy her father. Grand Marshal would not accept anything less for a foster daughter, never mind a daughter of his blood and a princess of Gondor.”

“Of course she will be Harad’s Empress and nothing less. And I will have no other wife nor concubine, not even to decorate the palace. I will not have her suffer such an indignity. I know that is a harsh thing for politics, for I cannot reward supporters by marrying their daughters and sisters…” Kor stopped a moment, suddenly registering something strange in Lang’s words. He asked suspiciously, “Uncle, what were you saying about Grand Marshal not accepting anything less for a foster daughter? Surely he would not know any Empress oh Harad except my mother?”

Lang ignored this question and asked instead, “Does aunt know your hope? What does she say about all this?”

This proved the right distraction, for Kor forgot his initial question and smiled somewhat ironically. He answered, “Yes, I told her, and she was very happy about this prospective match. The thought of helping me to win such a wife convinced her to stay in the White City a while longer. I know what you are thinking, uncle, that she should be sharper than this and foresee all the difficulties, but the Gondorian princess is her niece after all——did you know this? That the northern King’s wife is great aunt’s first cousin?”

“No, I did not know this! The Elder Princess’s blood kin and the Grand Marshal’s daughter? That is the only woman you will have by your side?” Lang still looked utterly astonished, but strangely his face melted into a slow smile, even as he shook his head, “It sounds better now that I say it out loud. The Grand Marshal’s own daughter, indeed! Perhaps it is not poor politics after all, it may yet play to your favor. General Niet has stayed aloof of the princes so far, but perhaps no longer. He was the Grand Marshal’s student and loves the man still; he has ever spoken for peace with the North, even when he was second-in-command in that ill-fated northern campaign. You would need to go see him soon and try to win him over in any case, and that future wife of yours might render the task easier.”

“If I can see him privately at all,” Kor murmured.

“‘Tis true he rarely shows himself in court now and retreats to his country property out on some nameless island, but your faithful Huin knows every single island in the Great Lake and can sail circles around the Lake Guard. Huin will receive you once your boats enter the Great Lake; have him take you to Niet’s residence.” 

Kor mulled over the plan for a while, finally nodding. Yet he also spoke with some reluctance, “I have a letter for General Niet from the fabled Grand Marshal, and some more such letters beside.”

“Grand Marshal’s letters?” There was a sudden gleam in Lang’s eyes, “Is there one for me also?”

Kor drew that particular letter from the sheave and handed the sealed envelope to his uncle. Lang did not open the letter to read, instead he carefully stowed it in the inner pocket of his sleeve. 

“I will read it later,” He explained with a brief yet almost reverential smile, “I have already cast my lot with you in any case, nephew, and need no more words to convince me on that front, so I shall read Grand Marshal’s letter later when I am alone.”

Kor had never seen the Prince Lang of Near Harad thus, so ensconced in private memories that he seemed distant, with such a light of hero worship shining in his dark eyes. He spoke with unease, “Yet I am uncertain if I should use those letters. My choice for a wife I can no more change, but to invite more interference from the northern King? Will our people not see me as a pawn of a foreign lord?” ——He did not dare bringing up Aragorn’s demands about the Lake Guard just yet; surely that can wait. 

“Some might think so, but Niet will not. The letter will be a balm to his heart and a quick way to ensure his support, which is the crucial matter now. Other issues can be dealt with later,” Lang spoke confidently, yet a moment later he added with a frown, “After your marriage you will have to offer some gestures to reassure our people, especially the young, that the North is an ally rather than a master. But such fears will not touch those like Niet and me. We know all too well that Grand Marshal has no desire to rule us. He led us only out of his strange sense of honor and debt, and would not stay and lead a moment past necessity’s demand; that is the greater tragedy of Harad. Ai, Your Highness, I will tell you all that you wish to know, I will tell you every single one of those sad tales that will perhaps never grace the pages of history.”


	7. The Thread of Kinship

Nearly a fortnight later the elven scouts Celeborn sent out had returned to Minas Tirith. They came bearing an ancient broadsword: Nimcrist, the white cleaver, wrought by dwarven friends of Doriath before that friendship was sundered by the taint of the Silmaril. Its blade was very long and broad, keen and white like star fire, every inch glowing with a cold fury. At the end of the imposing blade was a rather long grip and pommel for a broad sword, wrapped in an elaborate set of wrought iron ring guards adorned with pearls and gems. This was the sword of Amroth of Lorien, for which he received the name of Celebragor. Celeborn unsheathed the sword before all of his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He looked at the white blade for a long time, his green eyes glowing almost silver in the light of the blade, then he placed the sword back into its flowered scabbard and held it before Yuni. 

“‘Tis the last remnant of your father beneath the eaves of Lorien,” Celeborn said, “Take it now, child, for it is now yours.”

Yuni took the sword with a look of wonder, she carefully balanced the sword on her knees before speaking quietly, “I remember Nimcrist. Father was never without it. He used to let me play with the scabbard, but never the blade itself. I did not know it was so long and heavy.”

“Indeed, Nimcrist is a mighty sword that few can even carry in one hand comfortably, but your father wielded it with ease. With this sword he and his warriors pushed Durin’s bane and the endless orc hordes back into the depth of Moria, thus the woods of Lorien were spared the fate of Khazad-dum. Your father gave his heirlooms and treasures to Arwen, thinking she would be the one most likely to see you again, but Nimcrist I kept within my own house all those years.”

Yuni nodded, “Father certainly always looked at ease with his sword, as if the blade were an extension of his arm. Father is so very tall, your equal in height, is he not so, daerada?”

Celeborn’s lips quirked with amusement, “He is a shade taller than me, yet outside this room I shall not admit to ever having said so. He is also very broad, even wider at the shoulders than his uncle Finrod. His mother often said he inherited all the Vanyar blood, leaving none for his little sister, who is so slight and lithe she gave all her Noldorin kin quite a fright.”

Arwen cut in with a smile, “Surely not all Vanyar blood, daerada, for my brothers and I, are we not accounted tall even among the Noldor? Father always said we have our grandparents to thank.”

Celeborn laughed, “I am sure Peredhil meant Ëarendil the Mariner, who is a golden bear. Elrond and Elros are by no means slight, yet not quite the towering heights of Tuor and Idril and their son; those must go somewhere. Greatly do I rue missing the day when your brothers first returned home taller than your father, though Glorfindel’s retelling of it was entertaining enough.”

Arwen’s starlight grey eyes twinkled, “Glorfindel said mother was thrilled that day, for not only were her sons tall and lordly, she no longer had to be the only one shorter than her children.”

Celeborn smiled at both of his granddaughters, “Inglorel Amdiriel is slight like a warbler bird, even smaller than Celebrian, a trait she inherited from her Silvan mother. We all expected Inglorel’s child to outgrow her soon enough, little did we expect to lose sight of the child before she was grown.”

Yuni’s silver head drooped and she murmured, “I am sorry, grandfather.”

Arwen took her young cousin’s hand, “Do not apologize for your own suffering, dearest.”

Araniel inserted herself into the conversation and sought to distract her mother and her aunt both. “I may have no hope of exceeding your height, mother,” The princess said, “But Mirwen might, and I am sure that my little brother, when he comes, will most certainly match father’s imposing figure.”

Arwen spoke gently with unmistakable sorrow in her voice, “You are young, daughter, you have a few years of growing left in you yet; perhaps you shall exceed my height after all, though I may not see it.”

Realizing belatedly that she had turned her mother’s mind to yet another difficult affair, Araniel offered a forced, almost desperate, smile. The Council of Lords in Gondor had just gathered over the matter of the princess’s marriage; though there were shock and reluctance aplenty from the lords, no one raised any real objection to the prospective match. Araniel would in all likelihood marry far from her home and kin. Mirwen silently moved to her mother’s side, putting her head in the Queen’s lap. Arwen finally smiled as she smoothed her younger daughter’s raven-dark hair. 

Only Celeborn still seemed unperturbed and serene as a deep pool. He said, “You have seen Arwen’s children, Nimros, will you not tell us a little of your own? Is your son much like you? How old is he now?”

Yuni peered at her grandfather with uncertainty.

“Tell me,” Celeborn prompted, “He too is a child of my blood, one of those which tether me to these shores away from my most beloved. I think I shall travel south with you when you return home, so that I might look upon your son myself. Before then, will you not tell me a little of him?”

Yuni now looked awed, “I would be overjoyed if you would come with me to see my home and my child. Oh daerada, you do not know what it means to me!”

“And it means much to me too,” Celeborn said, “What is my great-grandson like, little one?”

So Yuni began with a glow only a proud mother can wear, “His father named him Huin, which means ‘a gathering of many confluences’. I call him Edenan, for he has brought another beginning to me. He just past twenty-eight years this month, and already matches Undomiel’s height, and I think he too has a few years of growing left. His father was not so tall either, so I am glad of my own father’s gift flowing in his veins. He is golden-skinned and dark-eyed like his father, and dark of hair too, though his hair falls in great waves much like mine, which is something never seen in the south. He is an imposing swordsman and an even better sailor. While Near Harad is horse country, southern Harad is all but unnavigable save in a boat. We dwelt for many years by the sea, along the coast of what is known as the Thousand Ril Bay, and Huin has been rigging a boat since the age of five.”

“Do you still live by the sea then?” Araniel asked with interest. 

A shadow fell on Yuni’s brow, “No, no longer; we went there after the war and returned to the capital nearly ten years ago. The war with Gondor taxed my lord husband immensely, for he ever spoke against it yet still had to serve its needs. And at the end, when… when we lost Kor whom he loved like his own son, it was too much, and he fell terribly ill and only barely survived. We left the court to dwell by the sea and to raise our son away from all the woes and intrigues, yet those happy years were too short. After my husband passed away I took Huin back to the capital, for my nephew begged me to return, and I thought Huin should know court and his extended clan before choosing for himself whether he will live that life.”

Arwen tightened her grip of her young cousin’s hand and she asked quietly, “How long did you have with your lord, dearest?”

“Alas, too short a time, had I eternity and still I would hunger for more,” Yet Yuni lifted her chin and smiled bravely, “But I regret nothing and I am grateful. I had my beloved for nearly all of his life, for we were children together, as he was the companion of my adoptive brother. He had loved me as soon as he learned to love, and I him, so a score of years we had together as husband and wife. Sometimes I wish I were not so young; had I known love earlier we could have had a score more.”

“So long as you did not let years you could have had slip by like flowing water, what is there to regret?” Arwen spoke softly, her expression wistful, perhaps thinking of her own lost years that she spent being torn by her impossible choice or waiting for the final unfolding of the fate of Men. 

Celeborn stood up then. His motion was still all fluid-like grace and his expression unchanged, yet one had to wonder whether facing such granddaughters has finally become too great a burden. 

“Come, children,” The ancient elf-lord said, voice still calm and light, “Let us step out into the garden while the sun yet lingers. I would like to see what you can do with your father’s sword, Nimros. He always said that you are hopeless on a boat yet show every sign to become a great swordswoman, but you were so young then of course, I would like to see if his words still hold true so many years later.”

Aragorn and the Peredhil twins joined them in the garden, having just returned from business. Seeing his young cousin unsheath the great Nimcrist, Elrohir laughingly offered himself up as a sparring partner. 

“I may be young, cousin, but I have been taught by some extraordinary swordsmen,” Yuni said while making a few tentative swings with the great white blade, green eyes sparkling. 

“Indeed, we know uncle’s legendary prowess personally, having matched swords with him in sparring,” Elrohir added with a shameless wink,“But uncle lacks some Noldorin finesse.”

Celeborn’s lips quirked and he spoke with mock solemnity, “This Sinda does take offense and might yet teach you a lesson himself.”

Elrohir exclaimed with a laugh, “To test my strength against one as ancient and mighty as you would be a great boon indeed! You must not reward me so, daerada, for I might get in the habit of offending you.”

Whilst Elrohir bantered Yuni made herself familiar to the sword. A few test swings told her the sword was too heavy to use one-handed, for she had not her father’s reach and strength, so she held the sword with both hands, somehow at ease with a hilt meant for one hand,though long it may be. Elladan warned from the sideline, “A broadsword is no long sword; the balance may be off for two hands, little one.”

But Yuni laughed confidently, saying, “Better that than swinging with one hand what I cannot control well, but this would not be a weapon of choice. Alas for not having my father’s stature to take up his arm!” With that she made one last swish with her sword and bowed to Elrohir. 

Elrohir returned the gesture and the spar began. Yuni was clearly skilled with a blade. Her footwork was efficient and precise, her swings and thrusts quick as lightning and more unpredictable than summer wind. Even with a sword that obviously ill-suited her she was holding her ground. Yet her movement was all too artful, too graceful, and indeed contained not a shred of the sharpness needed to maim and kill. Elrohir laughed as Nimcrist once again met his own sword with its flat side rather than the edge. 

“How prettily you dance, Nimros!” He teased.

“That is form and style, not inexperience, though I will not deny I have plenty of that too.” 

As Yuni spoke she continued to press the flat side of Nimcrist against Elrohir’s sword, trying to redirect Elrohir’s movement. Being the far more seasoned warrior, Elrohir easily broke contact and jabbed lightly into a breach in her defense. She dodged the thrust and Nimcrist circled back in a white arc to swipe at Elrohir’s legs. The peredhil raised an eyebrow while sidestepping the attack.

“Now that looks familiar,” He murmured.

Yuni grinned, and the she swiped her blade upward, aiming at Elrohir’s midsection from a sly angle. Elrohir twisted out of her reach with less ease than before, and then quickly parried the follow-through attacks, yet he was laughing all this while. 

“Those are Estel’s moves!” Elrohir exclaimed, “They were extremely effective when he had been a young colt and I a teacher unsuspecting of his inventiveness, but you cannot expect them to work so well now, cousin dearest.”

And in response Nimcrist swung toward him once more, this time tracing circles of light in the air, so swift and impenetrable, it seemed there was a blade in every direction. Elrohir seemed momentarily stunned, and then somehow he found himself standing very still with the ancient blade of Doriath at his throat. 

“Peerless Estel may be, I have other teachers aplenty,” Yuni said triumphantly.

Elrohir laughed once more, saying, “Well played, little one, I concede.” 

Yuni kissed his cheek, “You are far too kind, Elrohir, but thank you for letting me feel like I earned this victory.”

“You are an accomplished swordswoman for someone so small of stature and not even a century old,” Elrohir said earnestly, “Those last few moves indeed caught me by surprise. Wherever did you learn them?”

“A chance encounter with a wandering swordsman from the depth of the southern rain forests,” Yuni laughed while sheathing her sword, “In truth he came in search of Estel, having heard many tales of Estel’s extraordinary prowess. They exchanged a friendly bout, though I certainly cannot tell you who won the day. I learned what I could watching them, though I think Estel learned many more things, the chief of which is to never underestimate the art of my people!”

Aragorn let loose a very brief smile and he said softly, “By that time I have long been convinced of the greatness of the south, Ithiliel.”

“Seeing you with the sword reminds me of a ballad of the south, aunt.” Araniel clapped,“The Lady of the Swords of the North. I so enjoyed it that I rendered a version in Westron.”

“Indeed?” Nimros looked very much surprised, “I do not quite recall the song you speak of, but will you sing it for us? I always thought it well-nigh impossible to translate the southern tongue into anything else, for it is so very different from both Westron and the elvish tongue.”

Araniel nodded. She did not sing but began to softly recite:

Of old a lady came from the snowy north,  
Her silver sword set all four lands to quake.  
About her thronged watchers sighing and crying  
And long did Heaven and Earth tremble and shake.  
The light of her steel greeted the rising sun,   
And lissome limbs danced to the sound of wings,  
Now like the thunder’s laughing roar,  
Then gentle as white waves’ sways and swings.   
Where now the red lips and the flowing hair?  
Gone with a passing era’s fading light.   
Years came and went with the turning of a palm,  
Yesterday’s glory cannot greet a new age’s sights.   
The song is ended, a new moon soon to rise,  
Which bard still remembers renewal’s price?

At the end of the song Araniel frowned. A strange silence had fallen; Yuni looked a shade paler, and Aragorn’s eyes were shadowed. Araniel spoke again with plenty of confused contrition, “I am sorry, the song did not seem so sad to me before.”

“It would not so wrenching if the lady in question is not known and dear,” Yuni spoke in an almost inaudible voice, looking at Aragorn with glowing green eyes, and she would say no more.

So Aragorn explained and he sounded calm enough,“This sings of a young noblewoman of Harad. She was close kin to the child-Emperor of the last dynasty, then wife to the Emperor of a new age. Yes, Araniel, she was Kor’s mother. I came to know her through her father, who was a great man of true integrity and wisdom. She was very dear to me, for she was such a brave child, beset by every woe imaginable at a tender age yet she bore fate’s cruelty with unbelievable strength. I hoped to be her father’s after her own departed yet I fear she is only another whom I have failed. Alas, I shall not speak more of it now.” Aragorn’s gaze slowly turned to his daughter and stayed there, and he added in a murmur, “Though there must be more reckoning soon enough.”


	8. The Oathbreaker

When Kor had been ambassador to Gondor he still returned home often, sometimes for a spell of five or six months. His departure had always been hard for Araniel, but never like now, when she was filled with a fierce longing and a frightful impatience, she could barely sit still. Nor could she occupy herself with learning more about Harad. Maps and books of the far South there were only a few within Minas Tirith, and Yuni spent much time with Celeborn and the Peredhil. As much as Araniel desired to hear more of her new home, she was loath to steal her aunt away from her own mother. In those short spells of time Yuni did spend with Araniel she told the Gondorian princess much, about mountains and rivers, cities and the wilderness, great houses and clans, and she even helped Araniel practice the Haradrim script. Yet the Elder Princess of Harad told very few personal stories and none about Aragorn in Harad, saying she needed a few more conversations with the man himself before she could tell his tales. Araniel waited patiently. She was curious, yes, but she was curious about many things, and she would never let curiosity drive her to prod shadowed memories and wounds that will never heal. She knew well her father bore many scars both figurative and literal, though she has never even a hint of those scars. Aragorn was careful to never bare an inch of unnecessary skin, lest his kingdoms learn about his many tortuous years in the shadowed depths of the world, and even his children were kept away at arm’s length on that front.

After two months and some, messengers finally arrived from Harad. The company entered the White City with business-like solemnity and crispness, perfectly mundane and ordinary. A formal welcome hearing was called, and the new Chief Ambassador of Harad bowed before King Aragorn Elessar and introduced himself. 

“Hail, King Elessar! Shuri of the House of the Northland greets the King of Gondor and Arnor, in the name of the Emperor and the Empire of Harad.”

“Greetings, Ambassador,” Aragorn replied formally, “We bid you welcome to Minas Tirith. May a star shine upon our meeting and may our friendship be evergreen. What news do you bring from the Great South, Ambassador?”

So Shuri turned and bowed towards the south, before saying, “My company regrets to inform Your Majesty that the Former Emperor has passed away nineteen days before, shortly after we left the Imperial Capital. May he rest in peace in the arms of his forefathers, whom he glorified with his rule.”

The great hall fell respectfully silent, yet Aragorn let the silence sit a little longer than expected. Then to everyone’s surprise he stood up and descended the high dais. Standing before Shuri of Northland, he put a hand over his heart and inclined his head slightly. He spoke a long stream in Haradrim, before adding quietly in Westron, “Long live the Emperor.”

Shuri once more bowed and said, “I thank Your Majesty for your fair and generous words. The new Emperor sends his respect and well wishes. He also wants to reassure Your Majesty that Harad desires wholeheartedly continued peace and friendship with the North. Trade relations will be encouraged to go as usual; the Emperor and his court will introduce a tithe tariff reduction and freeze it for twenty years as a gesture of good will.”

Aragorn nodded, “We thank you.”

Shuri hesitated a long time before speaking the next line, “There is one more thing, Your Majesty.”

“Speak.”

Shuri drew a deep breath visibly, and then he said, “The Emperor has long known and loved Your Majesty’s daughter the Princess Araniel, and he asks the honor of having Her Highness’s hand in marriage. He sends his proposal with us, and should Your Majesty be inclined to accept, two great ships bearing Her Highness’s bride price will sail from the trading port of Tol Falas.” By the end of that short speech Shuri took another breath as if to settle his nerves, then he added quietly, “The Emperor said Your Majesty has already heard the proposal.”

“We have, and We have laid down our terms,” So spoke Aragorn, “Your Emperor knows the true bride price I demand.”

Shuri breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, “The Emperor does indeed.” He took a small gold-colored silken bundle from his sleeves and presented it to Aragorn, “This is what Your Majesty requested, sent to you as a true sign of friendship and good faith.”

Aragorn lifted a corner of the silk wrapping and took one quick glance, before re-wrapping the bundle. 

“The Empress's seal,” He murmured, “I did not expect it to leave the borders of Harad.”

Shuri bowed his head respectfully, “The Emperor hopes it will be given to the one for whom his heart yearns. There are two more seals for the captains who will lead the Empress’s Guard and the Imperial Decree on the matter of the Lake Guard. Will Your Majesty accept?”

After a moment’s pause Aragorn handed the golden bundle back, saying, “Guard it a while longer, Ambassador. Your proposal must be first presented before the Council of Lords of Gondor and the representatives of the High Council of Arnor. Should the two councils give their consent, and should the lady herself be willing, then your future Empress will receive these herself. If there is no more to your message, We bid you farewell for this night.”

Later that evening when Aragorn found some time to himself he sent for two pages to fetch Araniel to his chamber. The young princess came to him wearing a heavy cape, looking like she just returned from some excursion. 

“Her Highness just returned from Lord Halladan’s residence on the sixth circle when we found her,” explained one servant.

After the pages departed the room Aragorn chided with a small sigh, “Why trouble Halladan once more? You know full well that the councils of both kingdoms have decided to permit the marriage so long as Harad proposes the suit with courtesy and friendship. Halladan is not happy about it, but he would not stand in your way. Why burden his heart even more?”

“I am sorry, father, I am only nervous,” Araniel flushed, “The closer I am to certainty the more worried I am, though I have no reason to be, I know that. I… I apologize; I should not be so skittish.”

“You should not indeed,” Aragorn spoke, unusually stern.

Silence fell between father and daughter, and both wore darkened expressions. After a drawn-out pause, Araniel asked in a very small voice, “Have I brought you nothing but grief with this choice, father? Will you not wish me joy?”

“I wish you joy, my child. How can I wish for ought else?” So spoke Aragorn, “Forgive me, I know I seem prejudiced and miserly in my anxiety, but I begrudge you nothing, and Kor is a fine young man; he is worthy of your love.”

Araniel sat down beside her father and put a hand on his knee. She spoke quietly, “I know you do not think lowly of Kor. You taught him as you did me. So what haunts your heart? Will you not tell your daughter the whole truth so she might begin her life anew with certainty? I love him, father, my life is bound to his now, that can no longer be changed. Will you not tell me what I shall face in the empire of the south?”

Aragon breathed out a long sigh, and he spoke slowly, “Your now deceased father-in-law was a man to be feared. Loathed, even.”

“Ada!” 

The statement was shocking enough, Araniel could only be indignant at first. Then she realized what must have prompted such a line and she gripped her father’s hand in horror. “Oh ada!” She said in broken phrases, “Was it… How terrible… What happened to you?”

“I came from a different age and time, daughter. But do not think my reservation stems from a man now passed and gone alone; rather it is what he represents. I have known Kor’s father since he was a young man of sixteen, and I was his counselor and teacher for eight long years. He was brave and quick-witted, full of ambition and determination, and he did not lack honor nor compassion. I always believed Tunya a good man; flawed, but still a good man.”

“But you misjudged him?” Araniel murmured.

“I misjudged the the Emperor of Harad,” Aragorn sighed once more, “He became King of Near Harad at the age of twenty, yet already his domain expanded far beyond what his forefathers had known, and another two years later he became the Emperor of all of Harad, ruler of ten million. Even now that is a greater number than the number of the Reunified Kingdom and Rohan combined. Never had a young man seen his power and reach grow so swiftly. Everything he wished came to be, everyone he encountered bowed to his might. So he became impossible to contradict, impossible to restrain, and whatever or whomever he desired, must be his.” 

“Whomever he desired…” Araniel spoke hesitantly, “You spoke of Kor’s mother some time ago; was she…”

Aragorn returned a slow nod and said quietly, “She married him against her own will. What a fate to be a noblewoman at the end of an age! The moment we took over Tantor she was conquered, a prize already won. She did not love him, and in sooth I do not think Tunya truly loved her; he was driven by a strange lust to dominate and to possess. I tried to protect her; I even named her my foster daughter, yet it was to no avail. She could not resist his threats, and I could not refuse my consent unless I was willing to do so in arms. You see, my child, the Emperor of Harad is an uncheckable position, and such unconstrained power turns even the most honorable men disdainful of any heart and mind but his own.”

Araniel pondered this for a long time, before murmuring, “That is why you insisted on council procedures, even if for the first ten years no one wanted to disagree with you in any case.”

“The lords of Gondor and Arnor have always been powerful, so my efforts are not foreign.”

“I see how such a thing is alarming, but I do know about the great power and treachery in the Haradrim court. Surely there is something else to your reservation. Will you tell me about what happened to you there, ada?” Araniel hesitated a second but pressed on bravely, “Did you too fall victim to a tyrant’s lust to dominate and to possess?”

Aragorn sighed and said, “Tunya swore me an oath before his father’s deathbed, that my life and liberty would be guaranteed in his realm, and I would be free to depart when other tasks call me. ‘Tis the same promise his father made me when I first offered my service. Thus when he held me prisoner and put me to torment it became all the more heinous for that oath. Other allies have used me ill, but only he became an oathbreaker. I cannot forgive him even if I am willing. I am sorry, daughter.”

Araniel put a hand over her mouth. Once the shock receded she could feel a dreadful cold in the pit of her stomach slowly rising to her chest. Tales of Isildur’s curse and the Army of the Dead beneath the mountains echoed faintly between her ears. She breathed, desperately trying to quell the icy panic, yet something else leaped in her heart too, a fiery anger than nearly consumed the ice of fear. Just how much treachery and pain had her father endured? Was it not enough that servants of the Enemy hunted him, even friends and allies would betray him? 

She grasped her father’s hand and kissed it, saying, “Oh ada, whatever curse you laid upon him and his line was done so in righteous anger. Do not apologize to me. Whatever it is, I can bear it with Kor.”

Aragorn closed his eyes and did not speak for a long time. When he first heard of the Army of the Dead as a young man he had believed Isildur unjust and almost cruel. Surely no crime warrants the slavery of one’s soul for eternity. Yet when he himself faced an oathbreaker whose betrayal might bring down utter ruin, his fury burned hot enough to invoke a curse even more terrible. Thirty years have gone and a new age has begun, but the scene was preserved with perfect clarity in his memory. There he knelt in the tiny cell in the depth of the dungeon, chained and bloody, staring out the young man whom he taught and served faithfully for so many years.He held himself back only because there was no need to invoke a terrible curse, for the oath sworn was horrifying in its own right. 

“You swore to me,” He had spoken calmly and deliberately to the young emperor of Harad, holding on to the last ounce of his strength and dignity, “You swore an oath that should you break faith one day, you will never again know faith, all trust and love will forsake you, suspicion forever clouding your eyes, the masses will turn against you and loved ones will leave you, and all of your progeny would suffer a fate just as dire should they ever forsake their words. That is the price you pay for breaking an oath, Tunya. Step carefully.” 

The young man did not step carefully. For the next thirty years of his life, he lived in constant fear and suspicion as people who once loved his side left one by one, he could not even find peace and trust with his own children.

Aragorn opened his eyes with a small sigh, and then he murmured, “In righteous anger, yes, and I spoke no more than his own oath, yet even now it seems unjust. Do not let Kor break faith with anyone, daughter, least of all you. The lot of an oathbreaker is terrible, yet for him it would be more terrible still.”


End file.
